“Why are you here?” Anna asked.
“To help,” Marinke replied, astonished. His eyes were green like the forest in summer, and they looked as if he meant what he said. She wondered if it was possible to explain things to him. No. He wouldn’t understand. Nobody would.
“We don’t need anyone’s help,” Micha said. “I’ve got Abel and Abel’s got me, and we’ve both got Anna, and we don’t need anyone else besides that.”
Heavens, Anna thought, please don’t let me start crying now.
“You need money to live on,” Marinke said.
“We’ve got enough money,” Micha said. “Sometimes we even go out for hot chocolate. And we bought a book, to celebrate.”
“And where do you get the money from?” Marinke asked.
“How do you know that Michelle Tannatek’s on a … trip?” Anna asked quickly.
“Someone called us,” Marinke replied. “A neighbor who’s been worried. And Michelle hasn’t picked up her social services check for a while.” He sighed. “I guess it would be better to talk to …” He nodded toward the kitchen … Finally.
The kitchen door opened, and Abel walked in, carrying a plate stacked high with pancakes. Anna was confused. Did he want to prove that Micha wasn’t starving? It was strange to see him standing there in the doorway, like a big brother from a fairy tale, holding a mountain of pancakes, when, except for the fact that he was carrying pancakes, he didn’t really look like a fairy-tale brother at all. He had rolled up his sleeves, as if to make clear that he could throw Sören Marinke out of the apartment if he wanted to. The red scar on his left upper arm was shining, and he was having difficulty controlling his emotions. Threatening … that was the word. He looked threatening—like he’d looked in the student lounge, or in the Mittendrin, when he had stood face-to-face with Bertil. The plate with the pancakes was a ridiculous stage prop in his hand.
“Abel … Tannatek.” Marinke stood up. “I am …”
“I know. You’re from the social services office,” Abel said. “I got that. But this is a totally unnecessary discussion. I just talked to Michelle. She called a few minutes ago. She’ll be home soon. I’ll send her over to you as soon as she gets here. Tomorrow.”
“She … she called just now?” Marinke wrinkled his forehead. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”
“I can’t force you to believe me,” Abel said with that icy voice he sometimes had, “but tomorrow, you’ll hear from our mother. I guess you have a phone number …”
Marinke leafed through his notes, then searched through his jacket pockets, and finally found a card, which he gave to Abel. “The telephone number’s on there, too,” he said. “Call me. I mean, in case your mother … is, uh, unable to make it for some reason. We can talk. We can talk about everything.”
Abel put down the card on the table and set the plate next to it.
“What would we talk about?” he asked. “About Micha, and about how she’s suffering here, without her mother … going hungry and all?”
“No, I just …”
“You’ll want to see the apartment, of course,” Abel said politely, his tone as sharp as a knife. “You want to know if we live in squalor. You just want to make sure that there aren’t forgotten children, starving in their beds, like in other places … the newspapers are full of those kinds of stories, aren’t they? The interesting thing is that the mothers of those kids are usually there.” He gestured toward the hallway. “Please. Look around. Poke your nose into our cupboards. Search for any evidence you want.”
“Abel …” Anna began. But the look he gave her made her stop.
“Okay,” Marinke said. “If you insist I conform to the stereotype, I’ll give you what you want to hear … naturally, I’m the bad guy from social services, who tears apart families for a living and puts children into unheated orphanages, where they’re forced to live on nothing but bread and water.” He shook his head, his voice still friendly. “I’m here to help,” he repeated. As he reached out to put a hand on Abel’s shoulder, Abel took a step back.
“Have a look around the apartment,” he said. It was almost a command.
“Okay, okay.” Marinke went into the hallway; Abel, Micha, and Anna followed him.
“What’s the point of this?” Anna whispered. “Abel, this won’t help …”
Marinke opened every door a few inches. It was obvious he didn’t want to snoop. The situation was uncomfortable enough. Micha opened the door to her room. “This is my room. Please look around … I’m sure you don’t have a loft bed like this,” she said. Anna saw a smile glide across Marinke’s face. “Abel built it,” Micha added quickly. The smile on Marinke’s face faded. Maybe, Anna thought, this is the same sadness I feel. Maybe Sören Marinke walks through his own apartment from time to time and feels sad because it’s so beautiful. Marinke turned and left Micha’s room, walked back through the hall, back to the front door. Now, Anna thought, now he will leave, and we’ll be by ourselves again, and Abel can stop looking so threatening, and I can ask him about that call from Michelle … Suddenly, her cell phone rang. It was a reflex to reach into her pocket and take the call. A stupid reflex. She should have let it ring.
“Anna,” Magnus said. “Where are you?”
She saw Abel looking at her, but she couldn’t read his eyes. “Why?” she asked.
“Flute lesson,” Magnus answered shortly. He didn’t ask any questions.
“Shit,” Anna said.
“Just tell me where you are. I can come and get you. If we take the car, we can still make it in time.”
Abel’s eyes were still on her. “No,” she said. “I’ll come home. Now. Could you drive me from there? I’m going to be late, I know, but could you?”
“Hurry up,” Magnus said. “I’ll wait.”
Anna put her phone back in her pocket. “I totally forgot that I’ve got a flute lesson today,” she said. “My teacher will be waiting for me. I’ve gotta … I’ve gotta go …” She turned to Abel, helpless. “I don’t want to, I’d rather …”
“If you have to go, go,” Abel said. Marinke held the door open for her. Why didn’t he leave? Take his stupid folder and his smile … Why couldn’t he leave them alone, for just a minute?
Fuck off! She wanted to shout, very loudly, and use words she didn’t normally use. Fuck off, are you blind, blind like the white cat on the green ship? Don’t you see you’re interfering where you shouldn’t? Don’t you understand anything at all?
She reached out for Abel, but he stepped back like he had stepped back from Sören Marinke. “Go,” he said. “Your lesson’s more important.”
He didn’t shove her out the door exactly, but he drove her out, with the look in his eyes … and then, when Marinke had joined her in the hallway, he shut the door behind them. The last thing she saw was Micha shyly waving from behind him.
She climbed down the stairs, behind Marinke, without saying a word. It was as if they were one entity all of a sudden, an enemy entity that wasn’t welcome in Abel’s world. Her leaving was a betrayal, and she had seen it in Abel’s eyes: she’d spent half the day with him and Micha, then gotten a one-minute call and left them instantly. A plate of fresh pancakes was standing on a table somewhere, slowly turning cold.
On the ground floor, Mrs. Ketow’s door was slightly ajar. Anna ignored that and stepped outside behind Marinke. She had to hurry. She didn’t have time to talk. But she talked to him anyway.
“Do you really want to help?” she asked. “I mean … if you do … why don’t you just forget that Michelle Tannatek has disappeared?”
“Because that’s not an acceptable solution,” Marinke said. “You don’t believe that story about the call either, do you?”
Anna shrugged. “It’s not important what I believe,” she replied. “What’s important is that those two stay together, Micha and her brother.”